


Found Family

by NoaMilk



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Light Angst, Therion (Octopath Traveler) Needs a Hug, actually his main job in this au he gave up thievery, basically zaanta found therion, canon divergence is canon event divergence, haanit is the big sister character, hunter secondary job therion, nature called out to him, sorry very slow updates, spoilers for therions chapter 3, zaanta is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoaMilk/pseuds/NoaMilk
Summary: At the age of sixteen, Therion is found.or the AU where after the fall, Z'aanta finds him and takes him in.
Relationships: H'aanit & Therion (Octopath Traveler), H'aanit & Z'aanta (Octopath Traveler), Therion & Z'aanta (Octopath Traveler)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	1. Arrival

It was really nothing more than a normal day when H'aanit had first met Therion.

A week's worth of hunting was in order, seeing as her master wasn't here to help her hunt. He had left on a trip a few days prior to assist the Knights Ardante, and she was left to assist the village in his absence.

She had hunted for their food, Linde by her side, and left to return back to the village to have her dinner.

She wasn't expecting to return home to find Z'aanta back from his trip, accompanied by a figure she doesn't recognize, asleep on one of the beds.

"Master, thou hast returneth." She says, surprise evident in her tone. "And not alone, I see."

"Aye, I have. A young lad, from the looks of it. I hath found him injured on mine path to returneth through the Cliftlands. Perhaps I truly am growing old, as I couldn't find it in me to simply leaveth him." Z'aanta laughs a soft chuckle as not to wake up the boy. H'aanit lays her bow down beside the door, as well as the day's hunt. She makes her way to the side of the bed, inspecting the boy.

He was young, that much was obvious. Not so young that he was a toddler, but young enough that he only looked to be around his midteens. His white hair seemed stained red, coated in his own dried up blood. It pained her just looking at him; a young boy covered in scars and bandages, and she could tell from the way he breathed that he must've broken a few ribs. She wasn't sure what else was broken, underneath that blanket.

Linde walks over to stand beside her, craning her head down to sniff at the unfamiliar boy. She lets out a soft mewl, and jumps onto the bed. H'aanit lets out a startled gasp, in fear that her partner may worsen the boy's condition, but relaxes when she simply curls into herself on the foot of the bed.

"Linde seemeth to have taken a liking to him." Z'aanta says, watching as his own partner, Hagen, takes his seat at the door.

"Yes, it seemeth so."

* * *

Z'aanta had requested that H'aanit stay home to watch over the boy while he was hunting. He had promised to send over S'warkii's local medic to check on the boy before leaving.

His bandages were changed once the medic had arrived, and she finally saw the full extent of his injuries.

His body was already scarred more than any child his age should have, and splints were used to set his right arm and left leg back into place. Jagged scars and bruises ran down other parts of his body like his back and arms, which gave her the impression that he had perhaps fallen. Still, the most prominent of them all had to be the straight cut from his eyebrow to his cheek, and the deep diagonal cut across his torso which most definitely _did not_ look like natural wounds. They looked as if they were inflicted not by nature, but by man. For one, they were too precise and too deep respectively, and she's sure that no cliff edge could have inflicted those.

The boy has yet to awaken, but considering the severity of his wounds, she doubts he'd wake up anytime soon. The local medic is no certified apothecary, but they know enough about herbs and treating wounds to disinfect the boy's injuries. She would know, seeing as she's had her own need for their services in the past, after all. The life of a hunter was not an easy one.

Linde nuzzled her head into her hand, and she realized it was about time for lunch. She still had the bounty of her hunt from yesterday, and she's sure that's enough, if not more than, for the both of them.

* * *

It's been about two weeks since her master had left for his hunting trip, and four days since he had returned with the young boy whose life he had saved.

Of course, she doesn't expect him to wake up immediately. His body must be recovering from the injuries he's sustained, but with the passage of time, the more curious she becomes.

Just who is this boy, and what had happened to him to have landed in such a state? She knew she wouldn't get answers from an unconscious body, and she doubted her master knew anything.

H'aanit looks over from where she's petting Linde to the limp form of the boy on the bed. She and Z'aanta had been alternating between who would hunt and watch over the boy, and it was her turn to watch over him once again.

As an orphan, she couldn't quite say she knew where she was born, but she had been raised in S'warkii since Z'aanta had taken her in. She rarely left the village, and only when her master approved of her accompanying him on his commissions outside of the Woodlands. It was because of this that she couldn't quite give a name to the features of the boy.

White hair wasn't very common, but it wasn't exclusive to any region. He had yet to open his eyes, so she wouldn't be able to tell based on common eye color. At the very least, he doesn't seem to hail from the Flatlands, and his warm clothes crossed out the possibility of the Sunlands. Aside from that, the two places were much too far from the Cliftlands, where Z'aanta had met him.

H'aanit lets out a sigh. She isn't going to be able to figure out anything so long as he's unconscious. Nothing of his origins, background, or the reason for his injury. Not even his name.

Either way, Linde and Hagen seemed to like him, so she would accept that for now.

* * *

The boy woke up the next day during dinner. Linde and Hagen both twitched at the shuffling sound from the bed, standing up from their respective perches to approach the bed. Z'aanta lowers his utensils, staring intently as the boy slowly regained consciousness.

He shuffled around under the covers before attempting to sit up, realizing slightly too late that his body was too broken to support him. He lets out a hiss, and not a second later H'aanit is at his side supporting him, her dinner forgotten. He flinches at the touch, a little to hard, and is once again doubling over in pain.

"Tryeth not to move too much, boy, unless thou wanteth to agitate thy injuries." Z'aanta says, setting down his spoon.

The boy merely groans in response, and for the first time since her master had brought him in he opened his eyes. Green like the brightest grasses in the riverlands, shaded like the moss under the rivers. They're green and filled fear and doubt, but what topped them all was the immense amount of sadness in those eyes, as if he'd lost something that left a hole in him, and hasn't yet found anything to fill it.

"Don't touch me." He growls, his left hand shooting to grab at the one touching him, but H'aanit moves away before he can make contact. The action leaves him wincing.

"Well, too late for that now, isn't it? Thou art going to want help for thy injuries, as thou cannot accomplish it thyself."

"What are you.. some kind of poet? I didn't ask for your help."

"Had my master not helped thee, thou wouldst have died. A little gratitude wouldst be appreciated." H'aanit says.

The boy _tsk_ s in response, looking away from the towering hunters. He looks to his side and eyes Linde and Hagen suspiciously. She couldn't blame him. People outside of S'warkii didn't usually see friendly leopards or wolves on a daily basis.

"I have no need for thy gratitude. I wish to know what thy name is. T'wouldst be a pain to calleth thee 'boy' as we speak."

"I have no reason to tell you. You haven't even told me yours." The boy supplies. A fair point, she thinks.

"My name is H'aanit, and this is my master, Z'aanta. We are hunters here in S'warkii. Now, wouldst thou tellen us thine own?" Z'aanta complains about being able to introduce himself, but they fall upon deaf ears. The boy's scowl deepens.

"Why.." he starts, but he closes his mouth before he can continue. A few seconds pass, and he shows no signs of finishing the question.

"Why what, boy? Aren thou going to finish what thou started?" Z'aanta prompts, preparing another bowl and spoon, presumably for the (surpisingly stubborn) boy. When he hands him the bowl, he accepts it without hesitance, but doesn't seem to be eating anytime soon.

"Why did you save me?" he finishes, not daring to make eye contact with any of the two. Z'aanta gives him a look.

"Why? Do I require a reason to saveth an injured person? Thou art still a boy, as well. It wouldst be a waste to pass on so early into thy life."

"So you saved me because I'm a kid..?" Therion asks, confused. His left arm is gripping bruises into his right forearm, and she's sure that that doesn't feel nice, especially considering his arm's already broken state. When she grips onto his left arm, though, he flinches so hard and whips his head around fast enough that she isn't able to react when he rips his arm out of her hold, his back hitting the wall in his attempt to back away. Hunched into himself like that, he almost looked like a stray cat, glaring in fear at the one who assaulted him. 

He's in pain— both physically and emotionally, that much she can tell, but she isn't sure she's equipped to handle him. If it were simply physical, she could help in some way, but the way he refuses to put his trust in them and the way his eyes flash with sadness every time he backs away, well, she doesn't have enough experience in that field to know how to help.

"Kid." Z'aanta calls, and the boy slowly raises his head to meet his eyes, curling tighter into himself. "I am aware that thou may not want to share thine story with us, and I will respect that. However, we will be unable to help thee recover if thou shall not tellen us what is truly bothering thee."

"If thou shall not tellen us what resulteth in a reaction such as this, it shall only lead to the worsening of thy condition." If the way Therion remains unmoving is anything to go by, he already knows all of this. He knows, yet he still refuses to say.

"I shall not pressure thee in telling us what truly happened, but will thou at the very least, tellen us thy name?"

The room is silent, save for the occasional scratch of Linde's claws against the ground and the sound of their breathing.

After a beat, he replies.

"Therion." He says, so quietly she wouldn't have heard it were she just slightly farther away.

"My name is Therion."


	2. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H'aanit learns a little more about Therion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited: april 22, 2020

Therion, as it turns out, is rather persistent on how he refused to share any personal information.

Save for his name, there isn't a lot she knows about him. He doesn't talk much, and he'd avoid topics about himself or direct the coversation away when he deems them annoying. Right now, he's seated on the bed, fidgeting with the bandages around his wrists. He's dressed in Z'aanta's old tunic, although it certainely doesn't fit his frame. He is lean and thin— malnourished, even. Under the clothes, she's sure she couldlve made out his ribs.

Therion catches her staring, and glares at her in response. "What?" he demands, curling into himself. He did that a lot, she noticed.

"Don't mind me." She replies nonchalantly. "It is nothing."

"Hmph." He grunts and with that, he goes back to staring down at his broken arm. Every so often she'd find him looking at Linde or Hagen with fear in his eyes, and every time she'd assure him that they wouldn't attack (not that he seemed to believe them.)

* * *

Another thing she notices is that whenever they pass him a meal, he refuses to eat it. He would look at it with uncertainty, and give in only when he thinks they aren't looking.

"Therion, thou art going to take longer to recover if thou refuse to eat." H'aanit tells him. He doesn't reply, but she wasn't really expecting him to.

Z'aanta, as per usual, lets out a loud chuckle as his beer sloshes around, the smell of alcohol in the air.

"She's right, Therion. If thou dost not eat healthily, thou shall never grow in height." he teases. Therion tries (and evidently fails) at trying to hide how the comment affected him. Z'aanta simply laughs at his steadily reddening face. She wouldn't mind the constant bickering becoming a constant in her life.

But she knows that can't be. After all, he is still a young boy. He had things to do on his own, and it wasn't guaranteed that he'd be staying with them after his recovery. Still, she finds herself hoping. She doesn't know where exactly it comes from, but she wants to know more about him. Curiosity is something she's used to feeling, but there's something about Therion that has her wishing she knew who he really was.

"H'aanit, art thou going to eat? The one who prepareth her own meal has every right to consume it, as well." Z'aanta calls, momentarily saving the new victim of his fatherly teasing.

"Ah, of course. Perhaps thou too shouldst eat, instead of drinking alcohol. Haven't thou had enough?"

"T'is barely anything. Tellen her, boy! I hardly feel intoxicated at all." Z'aanta laughs, bringing Therion back into the conversation. He makes a comment that sounded like "What's the use of telling you my name if you dont use it," but Z'aanta doesn't seem to care. In fact, it almost seems hilarious to him, seeing as his laughter rose in volume.

"Master, art thou forgetting that Therion is still a child? He is barely at the age to beest drinking." She scolds.

"I'm not a child, thank you very much." Therion retorts, gripping the wooden spoon a little harder.

"Perhaps not, but thou art not in any shape to be consuming alcohol, regardless of age. Do not taketh anything my master spouteth seriously."

"H'aanit! T'is no way to talk to thy father, is it not?" Z'aanta mocks placing a hand on his chest, as if hurt. That gets a laugh out of H'aanit. He always was one for jokes.

Therion didn't participate in exchanges unless he was directly asked a question, but it wasn't a problem. Z'aanta always knew how to get people to talk.

* * *

The medic comes over to change the bandages once again, and ever since he's ragained consciousness, Therion's been stubborn about it.

Frankly, he's been stubborn about everything so far, so it really wasn't surprising at all. When the medic reaches forward to remove the patch over his eye, however, things go south faster than she could have handled on her own.

Therion's eyes flash with fear, his body immediately going rigid. His left arm reaches out to grab at the medic's wrist, hard enough that it would certainly leave a bruise. The medic lets out a squeak, and that catches the attention of Linde. Linde stands up from her sitting position, and this in turn pulls H'aanit into alertness. She follows Linde into the room, and upon entering she lays eyes upon Therion's defensive form, hunched into himself like he always did when approached, and the medic gingerly caressing his wrist.

"What hast happened here?" She asks. It wasn't a sight she expected to see.

"I simply attempted to checketh upon the state of his eye." the medic says, standing up straighter. "He pushed me away when I had gotten near."

"I don't need some stranger checking up on me." Therion says, and while it still contained the anger of his usual tone, he sounded smaller.

"It's... I'm not going to be able to see from it, anyway." He says, curling into himself even further, if that was possible. "I'm not supposed to." After that, he refused to say anything else. The medic leaves, but comes back a few hours later, and doesn't receive any complaints.

Therion was silent throughout the rest of the day, and not even Z'aanta was able to get him to talk.

* * *

H'aanit had been thinking about what Therion had said about his eye for the rest of the day.

Z'aanta was back home, taking care of Therion. Linde nuzzled into her leg a little. She could tell she was distressed, it seemed.

"Worried about me, aren thou? No worries, Linde. I am fine." She assures. Linde doesn't stop nuzzling into her leg. With a soft smile, she pets the leopard's head and Linde purrs in response, leaning into the touch.

It seems even Linde was worried about Therion.

A growl from beyond the bushes snaps her back into reality.

She is a hunter, and as a hunter it's her job to bring peace to the people, whether it be by slaying the beasts of the forest, or the beasts of one's mind.

She hopes she's qualified for enough to accomplish such a task.

* * *

Within the span of two weeks, she had learned exactly two things about Therion.

The first thing she had learned was that Therion was alone, and had no home to return to.

"Therion, if thou dost not mind answering, what do thou plan to do, once thy injuries have fully healed?" H'aanit had asked. Therion didn't immediately reply, only looked down at the sheets.

"I don't know." He had admitted. "I don't have a home. Not anymore."

"Ah, I see. My apologies for bringing to light such a topic." She had apologized.

"No, it's whatever.."

"No home, eh? How didst a boy of thy age survive? Had thou no support whatsoever?" Z'aanta had asked. This question led to the second thing she had learned about him.

"Can't exactly say I had support. Not support from an honest line of work, at least." he had said. That got H'aanit raising her brows, and she's sure Z'aanta was the same.

"Thievery?" Z'aanta had asked. It certainly made more sense for a teenage boy to commit such actions— especially one without a home, as he had said.

"Y-yeah.." He had tried to sound steady, but the stutter of his voice gave his nerveousness away. "If you've got anything to say about it, say it. Throw me in the gaol for all I care. It really won't make a difference—" He had started to ramble on, but Z'aanta had stopped him.

"I shall not throw thee to the gaol." He had said with a sigh. "I understand that thou hast thu reasons for stealing. But from this day froward, thou shall not stealeth anymore, understood?"

"I— what?" He had spluttered. "It's, it's not that easy!"

"Surely not." Z'aanta had agreed. "T'would be difficult by thyself, however, t'would not be as hard with the help of others." 

"O-others? Don't be ridiculous. No one would want.." Therion had said with a sad look in his eyes. "No one would ever want to help me unless they wanted something in return."

Silence had stretched throughout the room, and even Hagen seemed to be bothered. He padded over to the side of Therion's bed, laying his chin on the side of the bed. The action had made Therion more uncomfortable.

"Boy, thou shall not ever advance in life with a mindset alike to that." Z'aanta had reprimanded. "We shall take you in, H'aanit and I. You will life with us as friends, but most importantly as family.

Back in the present, H'aanit looks over to the unconscious body of Therion. His sleeping form was much more peaceful than when he was awake, and like this, he actually looked like a child. He had said he no longer had a home, suggesting that he used to have one, but now Z'aanta has offered him one, and it was his choice to join them. She had known since she was a cild that thievery was looked down upon by society. In all honesty, she too believed thievery to be a unrighteous action. And yet, looking at the thin body of the boy who undoubtedly was forced to grow up faster than his body could keep up with, well. She could understand his reasons for stealing, at least. 

As a hunter, she always provides her own food, and prepares it by herself as well. She never had the need to steal anything. But now, if Therion wishes it, he would be living with them. She would never say it out loud, but she was glad that her master had invited him. Either way, she would have suggested it, one way or another. 

Therion hadn't verbalized his response then, instead he answered with silence. It was his answer, yet until now she didn't know if his answer was a yes or a no.

The fact that he used to be a thief, she decides, wouldn't stop her from treating him kindly, if he ever decides to join their little family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter might not come out as quick, sorry,,, ill try to see it done asap tho


	3. Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H'aanit finally get a proper answer.

The following weeks, while much like the first few, were a little more energetic.

Therion participated in conversation more often, though most of his time was still spent brooding in bed. His sarcastic responses brought more laughter out of Z'aanta, and she'd admit that it was quite amusing to watch him tease the boy.

With more conversation came more information about him, and she likes to think she's coming closer to solving the puzzle that is Therion.

He's sixteen, used to be a thief, and comes from the Riverlands. Therion doesn't know his last name, but he's certain his name is Therion. He likes apples, and—well, nothing much else, from what she noticed.

Now that she lists it down, she admits that it's not a lot to go through. H'aanit has barely even put them together. She doesn't even have all the pieces.

After their second week together, he started accepting meals willingly, as if accepting that they weren't going to poison him anytime soon. After all, she prepares the food in the same room as him. He could see everything she put in his bowl. If there were any poison in it, (not that there was) he'd have noticed her putting it in.

Despite all the weeks they've spent together, she doesn't think she's ever seen him smile— not even once. His constant expression was a displeased scowl, and during the worst of times, a fearful frown. But never once a smile.

"That boy hast been through hell." Z'aanta says one dinner, while Therion was asleep.

"What maketh thou think so, master?" H'aanit asks. She's seen the fearful looks, and she's heard his screams of despair in the middle of the night. She knows he's been through a lot, yet that doesn't stop the question from leaving her lips.

"Have thou not seen the scars littered across that boy's body? The look in his eyes simply screameth despair. Certainely not a look a boy of his age shouldst be wearing." Z'aanta may be a jokester, but he wasn't one to joke about a a serious matter.

"Indeed, I have noticed."

"Truly, he is a special case. I intend to help him to grow. If he dost not learn to move on, he will not grow as a person." Z'aanta explains. H'aanit spares a look at the unconscious boy. His face was twisted is a slight frown, even in his sleep. She knows that to be a sign of the beggining of a nightmare, considering all the other times it had happened in the past few weeks.

"Once he hast healed fully, I shall teacheth him the bow, whether he liketh it or not. Better that he useth his nimble fingers to hunteth for his own meal than to take from others." And at that, the conversation ended. Therion wakes up from his nightmare, and after a few delirious seconds, he registers the concerned looks from the two hunters, and curls into himself. He doesn't say a word, but she can tell he doesn't fall back asleep.

* * *

Another week passes by, and Therion is finally given permission to get out of bed.

He's weak; frail and unused to the feeling of walking again, but the first thing he does is retrieve the clothes he had been wearing when they found him. They're tattered and old, but H'aanit had done her best to stitch together the parts that could be salvaged. She couldn't quite get the bloody stains off the sides, though.

Therion doesn't seem to mind either way, hugging the mantle and scarf to his chest. His hand tightens around his crutch.

"My apologies, Therion. I had tried to wash the bloodstains off, yet they refused to yield. If thou consider it unwearable, I could make thee new garments. If thou dost not mind a hunter's garb, that is."

"Actually, I do mind, so don't bother. I'm fine with this." He says. A sad look crosses his face as he looks down at the purple of his clothes. "So don't throw it away."

"I never said I would throw it out." She explains. "I simply suggested that I give thee new ones to wear. A bloodstained mantle would surely catch a lot of attention, considering the amount of blood on thine."

"I guess so." He says, but doesn't say anymore. He had refused the offer, but it was always better to have more than one spare, was it not? It was better than wearing Z'aanta's old tunics, at least.

* * *

Z'aanta was on board with the idea of giving Therion new clothes.

She hadn't told him, but he had walked in on her sewing it outside the cabin, and had approved of the idea. He had even given her furs to use.

She hopes she can get it done before he completely recovered, at least.

* * *

"Hey." Therion says, being the one to start a conversation this time around.

He was healing nicely, and didn't need a crutch anymore. His wounds weren't completely closed, but it's not as if he could ruin the stitches. She'd make sure of that.

H'aanit looks up from where she's preparing their dinner, surprise evident in her features. Therion starting a conversation wasn't something she'd known he could do until now. Z'aanta looks up from his ale.

"You, uh-" Therion stutters. Not used to talking, apparently.

"You offered to, you know." He gestures vaguely with his hand. "Let me stay. Here, with you." Oh?

"Is that offer still standing?" He asks. He doesn't meet their eyes, and H'aanit can see his face turning a little red at the edges. H'aanit smiles warmly. He hadn't been certain, but now that he's brought it up himself, she's questioning why she even doubted. Despite how little they still knew of him, he had opened up considerably over the last few weeks. If he had anywhere else to go, she's glad he chose them.

Z'aanta lets out a laugh, loud and hearty. Hagen and Linde are busy staring at the food she's preparing to be bothered by the noise. Therion glares at him.

"What's so funny?" He asks. Prickly as ever.

"Thou wouldst really believe we wouldn't still asketh thou to stay after offering? Thou surely are hilarious, boy."

"Shut up! Is that a yes or a no?"

"Therion, that is a yes. He has already said it— thou may stay with us for as long as thou would like."

"Thou willst be living the life of a hunter now, boy. Best get along with the others, since thou hast no other choice but here, now."

Therion groans, but doesn't say anything else. Z'aanta wastes no time teasing him about it.

Seems she'll be looking after for one more person from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really sorry that this chapters so short, especially since its the last. i might add a sequel but no promises.

**Author's Note:**

> i just want them to be friends, is that so much to ask
> 
> also if any of you have a reliable source for olden english grammar please tell me


End file.
